


Old Love of Monsters

by kenamailani



Series: Lonely Monsters [1]
Category: Frankenstein - Mary Shelley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-03-26 13:18:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3852349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenamailani/pseuds/kenamailani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Decades after Frankenstein's death, Freankenstein's monster leaves the arctic to live out the rest of his days in the land he once loved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Monster

High up in the arctic, soft snow falls and covers the slippery ice of the glaciers. At the edge of an icy cliff, harp seals dive into frigid waters to catch fish for their young. A splash startles them out of the water, and as a creature swims toward the beach of ice, the seals flee farther inland. A polar bear observes the rippling water as this unknown beast slides closer to the icy cliff, seemingly without care of the cold or the predators hunting in these arctic waters. As the creature reaches the ice a large, pale and horribly scarred hand emerges from the water to find a good handhold on the slippery ice. Grasping at the edge of the glacier the monster pulls itself out of the water, revealing its horrifying appearance.

Scars cover the man’s body, for it was indeed a man, like puzzle pieces taken from different games and forced together until they fit. Skin pulled taut over large and lean muscles, and near translucent from the cold waters it had left. Clothes, nearly as patched and torn as he was scarred clung to his frame, dripping sea water onto the ice beneath his feet. In one scar covered hand it carried a large net full of fish and a seal pup, and slowly the man’s long legs carried him to a small boulder of ice. There the man’s disfigured face gazed at his catch, his bald head tilting slightly at the sight of the caught pup.

Fish spilled out onto the ice and the monster releases its dinner, the seal cries as it is tangled in the net, unable to escape it or the monsters clutched. A large hand reaches for the fidgeting seal, grasping it around the middle, its fuzzy fur trapped against its young body. With a cry the seal pup is released from the net, the net falling on top of the fish, wiggling across the ice. The pup makes soft, fear filled noises as the monsters other hand joins the one holding the baby penguin. A CRACK sounds as the man crouches, hands releasing the penguin onto the icy floor, the pup lays still.

 

A groan sounds as the man sits on the boulder of ice, rubbing creaking knees, evidence of old age and the wear and tear of living. Squeaking at his feet brings the man back the seal pup, sitting in a patch of fluffy snow. Bending down once more, despite protest of his back, he reaches for one of the fish wiggling under the net. Scarred hands offered the treat to the pup and waved it off. He watched as it slid across the slippery ground, most likely in search of its mother, before gathering up the scattered, flopping fish. 

Picking up the full net once more, the monstrous man stood from the boulder and began making his towards a large rock face were a dark crack betrayed the only evidence that within was a moderately sized cave. Inside was a pile of furs, furthest from the entrance, piled in a way that vaguely resembled a bed. A misshapen piece of metal sat between the bed and the door way. A flickering and diminishing fire burning on top of it. This was likely to keep the rare driftwood the man would find away from the melting ice caused by the fire so that it wouldn’t get damp and smoke out the cave. 

With an old, rusty knife taken from the corner, the man began to precisely gut and scale the fish before sticking them by the fire to cook. Sitting on the pile of furs as he waited for the fish, he thought about his life, as there was not much else for him to do. He was not made as other were; his creator, a scientist flirting with life after death, had made him in a mad attempt in proving he could bring the life back from the dead. Influenced as he was by the passing of his mother to scarlet fever. In his eccentrics, he had been created. A monster made from pieces of man. Ugly and misshapen. Cast out. 

He had been angry, as monstrous as his appearance, and his anger had led to the death of many. Though his guiltiest crime had been the death—no, murder—of an innocent boy. His first act of monstrosity that had been but the beginning of actions that would lead to the death of his creator. Not far from these frozen lands. 

The monster had been lonely, desperate for companionship that was taken from him every time he reached out for kindness. First his creator who had drawn away and been revolted by his own making. Then the kind peasant family that had attacked him, called him monster and pushed him away. Despite the kindness of the old blind man, and the monsters own fondness towards the family that had inadvertently taught him to read and write. 

So many people had been revolted by him, screamed, ran, called him horrible things. He had tried to draw away but no living thing was designed to be alone, even a monster. He had gone to his creator, begging for a wife and his creator agreed. But he had lied and took away the only chance a monster like he could ever find love. So like the monster he was, he destroyed his creator. But not physically, no. he had destroyed him with words and actions against those he loved and in retaliation his creator had vowed to destroy his creation. It was glorious. Finally there was something more than revulsion. There was anger, fury, loathing action. If he could not have a friend he would have an enemy. But his creator died in the chase for his life and all that was left was his anger; nothing else to look at but the demon he had become. His actions without retribution. 

He had planned to kill himself, he said he would go to furthest point in the world, high up in the arctic, and light himself on fire. But it had been cold and incredibly windy and no matter how much he tried he could not get a flame. He had tried other ways to kill himself, exposure to cold, starvation, but in the end he could survive the cold, hunger drove him mostly mad rather than dead. So he had decided to live out his life in this arctic hell, depriving himself of the one thing he had wanted in life, companionship. 

However, over a century had passed since the death of his creator and he was old and weary. He could feel it in his bones as they ached and in his fingers that sometime shook when he used his knife. He was going to die and though it was selfish, he did not want to die alone. 

Dreams of warm sunshine filtered through leaves and bare feet on soft, lush grass haunted him as he slept. His only memories of happiness, that small peasant family and their farm. How he wished to see the land once more. 

So why shouldn’t he? The family had abandoned their house to escape him. Surely no one lives there now. It was rural with hard land to farm and the family surely spread tales about how monsters roamed the land. If no one was there then there was a place a way from people he could live out the rest of his days, years, in peace and warmth. 

The sound of sizzling and the smell of well cooked fish split his attention towards his meal. Yes, he thought as he bit and chewed on the flakey fish, I will pack what I have and leave this land of desolation. It is surely not too much to ask after so long of cold solitude for a death in warm sunlight. 

The next morning he began packing the furs he had and the last of his food, he could hunt more on his travels, and after so long he began to backtrack the path he had taken. Over the course of several months he walked down from the frozen land he had been inhabiting towards that cottage in Germany. He passed many settlements and marveled over the change. Strange, horseless carriages roamed the street making horrible noise and spewing the occasional cloud of black smoke. Many things were different, building, clothes; and there were more towns and more people than he remembered there being. 

He travelled through the night and found shelter during the day to keep away from the eyes of man. It was during those nightly walks that he would notice some homeless men, gravely injured or missing limb. Propaganda on windows spoke of a war won against something called a Nazi based in Germany. 

The closer the man got to where he remembered the cottage to be, the less he was sure that he should continue. A lot seemed to have happened since he was gone. And not a lot of that seemed good. Perhaps there was nothing left of his fondest memories. 

As he entered Germany he began to hear about what had been going on in the war that had only just ended. The horrors of Jew camps, the iron curtain as they called it that has been rising and separating the land. He made his way through towns in search of the cottage in his memories and everywhere he looked there were crumbling buildings or construction and rebuild. Worst of all the land and roads had changed during the time he had been away and without meaning he had become lost. Wandering a war torn country searching for memories that seemed to fade in the onslaught of change. Before it had just been him and his memories and he had guarded them fiercely, now there was so much he was seeing and learning those memories from long ago seem to slip through his fingers. 

He wandered the country side with nothing but clothes he had traded with his bundle of fur and ancient hunting equipment nearly falling apart with age. Stumbling through muddy back roads he cursed ever coming back. Turned around as he was he feared he would never leave this tragic country. 

It was as he thought this that he passed an old, wooden sign with the name De Lacey on it. He had seen a few signs along the road he took, marking off shoots of roads that lead to rural private property or farms, so he thought nothing of it. But the name struck his slipping memory and brought a face from the depths of despair. A face of an old man, blind but kindness filled his unseeing eyes. De Lacey. That was his name. 

He turned and looked at the road marked by the sign. It wasn’t new, but it wasn’t as old as he was. Someone lived there after the De Lacey’ first left. They had, perhaps moved back after sightings of a monster had moved from their region. Perhaps they stilled lived there. After all this time, so many miles on old bones to get nothing. No one would let a monster live on their lands and share their time. Yet dreams of sunshine and lush grass pushed him forward down the road. A lonely monster, desperate for companionship. 


	2. The Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lana was taught from a young age to never judge a book by its cover.

Lana De Lacey was the granddaughter of the grandson of a kind, old blind man. She had lived in her little cottage most her life, like her father before her and his father before him. And when he had passed he had given it to her. Her family has been German for several generations now, however at one time the De Lacey family had been French. Her grandfather’s father had been a good man who had helped a Turk merchant escape from a French prison. The merchant had been the father of what would become the man’s wife. For aiding a criminal in escape he and his family had been imprisoned for a time before they were cast out of France to later reside in Germany. 

Her family had started out in Germany very poor however thanks to good investment and luck their wealth had risen to a state of moderate wealth. They had a small, stone cottage that had been built in the late 1700s after a fire had destroyed the first cottage. It had two bedrooms, enough for a family that typically only has one child, which sit on either side of the main room. The main room is average in size with room enough for a small kitchenette, dining area and sitting area. 

As a child she remembers sitting on her grandfather’s knee listening to stories told to him by his grandfather. Stories of lonely monsters and misleading appearances. As her grandfather’s grandfather was blind he told stories through touch and sound. He explains the hesitance in the voice as it talked, words coming high above, spoken from a giant. He describes the voice of a man, gravelly from lack of use, but spoke so cleanly with an air intellect. He described the rough calluses on large hands that held incredible power but were so gentle. He tells of the scars across those hands that ran up is wrists and disappeared into clothe but stood out further on his face. But most of all he described how tense the skin had felt, as if waiting for ugly words, and how relaxed it became the more they talked. A scarred, lonely creature who wanted companionship and had come to the one person who could not see the monstrosity that he was. 

Lana had loved to hear those stories. They had felt so tragic and lonely and in truth she would feel better about her life because she did not have it as bad as that sad creature. Her grandfather would also tell of how his father would describe the creature, beastly and raging. But Lana preferred the tales of touch and sound. They taught her to accept people for who they were and not what they were. Because of this whenever she went into town she would go to the loneliest people on the streets and talk to them and get to know them, they had the most wonderful stories. 

She met her late husband this way, not that her late husband was some lonely man on the street, rather he had tried to warn her away from a prostitute she was trying to befriend. She had shut that man down in an instant. Just because she was a sex worker and doing thing she didn’t approve of, did not mean she was less than human and not in need of a friend. He had apologized and agreed and asked her for coffee because he found her way of thinking fascinating. It was love at first sight after that. 

She had moved from her family’s cottage when they got married and for many years they were happy. A few years into marriage they had a baby boy who they named Felix, a family name, and life was heaven. 

But then came World War I, and despite being a new mother she felt a call for duty for her country. Leaving her son with her parents in the countryside, she became a nurse for the army during the war and had helped save many lives. It wasn’t uncommon during that time to see horribly injured or scarred men and in times they would remind her of the stories of the monster and remind her to accept people for who they are and not what they looked like. That became all the more important when her camp was attacked. 

It had been a flurry of activity. Bombs and bullets flying like flocks of birds. People dying and screaming and there she was running between gunfire to give aid to the injured, whether they be enemy or ally. Then, in one moment, she was stopping a man from bleeding out, and in the next being flung by fire. It had been so hot, sometimes she still has nightmares of burning, but in the panic and pain she had remembered to gather fistfuls of dust to throw on the fire and set herself out. In the end the damage had been done and burn scars marred the side of her face and all down her left arm. 

She had felt ugly, after the war. She was unclean and monstrous and everyone on the street would draw away from her. She had taken to wearing a veil over her face, but even that didn’t seem enough to cover the scars. On some of her darker days she would refuse to leave the house and her husband began talking to her parents about moving into her childhood home and her parents could have their house in the town. That was the only good thing during that period of her life. That her husband was so good and loyal that he loved her despite how marred she was. Yet at times it felt like a burden. He deserved someone better, someone beautiful. Often time she would flinch at his touch, afraid he would feel her scars and shy away. But he was always there, refusing to give up on her. 

After several years out in the country side, the peace and solitude helping to heal her, she started accepting what she had become. Her parents had kept Felix, now five, after she the war. She had been so weighted down by her appearance they were afraid having a hyper and naïve child running around underfoot would do more harm than good to her already fragile psyche. However every weekend they would take him to visit Lana and despite her scars he would always run up the drive to give her a hug and tell her about his week. With the unconditional love of her husband and baby boy Lana began to accept her scars and a year after the war Felix moved back to live with his mother in the countryside. 

Though she had accepted her appearance, Lana still wore a veil whenever she rode into town. She knew that while she could see past the ugly scars to see something beautiful within, not everyone could. In town she rekindled her friendship with her friend, the former prostitute, know a loving mother married to a rich man. Her friend had the most beautiful daughter who had the brightest smile. Her name was Francesca and when Lana caught her son giving the biggest doe eyes at her she knew she would be family. And family she was.  
The day Francesca came of age was the day Felix, two years older, dropped to his knees and proposed. Their wedding had been small but held all the comforts of a loving family. After the honeymoon, Felix moved to the town to live with Francesca and like his mother’s marriage before him, they were happy and after a few years they were expecting. Also like his mother’s marriage was the rise of another world war. 

Before the war had even started, Lana’s husband had been killed. He had been in town late one evening and saw a group of drunks hassling a passing Jew. The generous soul that he was, he had tried to help the Jew but had paid for his generosity with is life. It was a dark time for Lana, only brightened for a moment with the birth of her granddaughter.  
Hope De Lacey had her mother’s smile and her father’s loving eyes. She was a light unto her family in an age on the brink of war. Lana loved her very much and had been afraid the babe would be scared of her scarred face, but the fears had been dash from the first moment she had smiled at Hopes splotchy face and received a giggle in return. 

Then, ten months after her husband’s death, and five months after the birth of her granddaughter, war was official. Hope was placed in Lana’s care for a time as Felix and Francesca worked in their town to curb the hate against Jews. And then permanently when they had decided to travel the country and help smuggle out and rescue persecuted Jews. They did that for many years and Lana herself harbored a few in her shed for a time. 

However one day her son and daughter-in-law did not return from a trip. For several months Lana waited for news but the longer she waited the more she began to accept the possibility that they would not come back. Those fears were confirmed a year after their disappearance when she received a letter from a family that they had helped. The letter explained that her son had created a diversion when Nazi soldiers had closed in so that the family could escape. Her daughter-in-law had gone with them for a time before heading back, whether to look for Felix or return home, the family did not know. She never made it either way. 

Heartbroken, but determined, Lana began raising her granddaughter. Telling her stories of the family she would never know and teaching her to accept and befriend others. No matter the pain and sorrow that Lana felt, she had Hope and that was enough. But oh, how she wanted to love again, to feel the companionship of another. But no one could love a scarred, old woman. No one could love a monster. 


	3. The Maiden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope can bring even monster happiess

My names Hope De Lacey and grandmamma says I’m the most beautiful child in the whole wide world. My mommy and daddy are in heaven because they protected the Jewel people from bad men so I live with grandmamma outside of town. Grandmamma is different from the people in town, she’s got these bumps and dips on her face and arm that make her look scary, like a monster. Well, scary to everyone else, I know there was nothing scary about her or monsters. Not all monsters are bad, Grandmamma tells me stories about a monster who was really sad and lonely and just needs a friend. She says “Hope, never just look skin deep, you gotta look inside,” like their liver. 

Because of grandmamma I know to never be afraid of monsters, like the one under my bed, because I know all I need to do is be their friend and if there’s ever a really mean monster I’ll just get grandmamma. She says she’s the scariest monster around and will scare away all the mean monsters. 

Sometime I go out at night to look for lonely monsters—shush, grandmamma doesn’t know—but so far I haven’t found any. I’m trying to befriend as many monsters as possible because everyone knows monsters are the best protectors. If you gain a monster love you’ve got a friend for life, that’s why I’m going out again tonight to look. 

So far I’ve searched the shed and down by the creek and I couldn’t find one in the shed but the moss monster by the creek tripped me and stained my nightgown so we aren’t friends. A couple nights ago I heard a monster down by the main road, it was load and rumbling and gave sputtering coughs and it had this yellow eye that glared out as it moved. It must be very old, or it has a cold in which case grandmamma make the best tomato soup, it can cure anything. She made for lunch today and we always have some leftover. I think I’ll take it with me tonight to the monster on the road. I hope I’ll make a friend. 

**Author's Note:**

> So, a lot of revision since my first version oh so long ago. Hope you liked it.


End file.
